


The Prince of Bradford

by heyhazza



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, and ziall, idk i just really like disney stories, this wasn't supposed to be this long, whoops, yes this is an aladdin spinoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyhazza/pseuds/heyhazza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Aladdin spin-off in which Zayn is Aladdin and Niall is Princess Jasmin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince of Bradford

**Author's Note:**

> Original storyline is not mine! All credit for it goes to the original author of "Aladdin and the Magic Lamp." I am simply responsible for the Ziall spinoff.

Zayn was the only son to grace the sights of his father Yasser, a poor tailor who made shop among the rich folk of the small town of Bradford. When Zayn was old enough to learn his father’s trade, Yasser brought him into the run-down old shop and sat him before the workbench strewn this way and that with needles and pins and scraps of all materials. But Zayn lacked ambition, and much preferred playing footie in the dusty streets of his neighbourhood to long hours of toiling work. 

Not uncommon of poor peasants in that day, Yasser died when Zayn was yet a young boy, not yet thirteen. Instead of stepping into the position of the man of the house, however, Zayn remained lazy as ever, forcing his mother to spin new cloth night and day in order to provide for herself and four children.

One day, when he was fifteen, he and his best mate Harry were playing football in the street, dust filling their lungs and stinging at their eyes. Two upturned fruit crates served as their goals. A strange man who was walking by stopped to observe the two boys, his eyes drawn toward the darker-skinned boy in particular. The man was somewhat famous, a travelling magician of sorts. Thus far in his wanderings, he had yet to find someone so ignorant and foolish as to fit his needs. When he laid his eyes upon Zayn, however, the boy’s cocky arrogance and lack of regard for his poor toiling mother let the magician know that he had found his muse. Not wanting to be rash, the man continued his leisurely amble, stopping at some nearby fruit tents to inquire about the name and character of the boy. Now, Zayn was a bit infamous around Bradford. His reputation around town was that of a no-good scoundrel, and those who knew what was good for them kept away from him. Knowing Zayn would fit the part of the boy he had been searching for, the magician returned to his inn with the intent of searching for Zayn again the next afternoon. 

The sun was beating down harshly upon the backs of the townspeople the next day as the magician ambled into the square where he’d seen Zayn hours earlier. Just as expected, the boy was out in the street once more, kicking around the lumpy football in his filthy rags, seven or so other boys scurrying about around him. The magician paid no head to the game going on around him, however, and manoeuvred his way though the sweat-muddied boys before clapping a hand on Zayn’s thin shoulder. “Ah, the only son of Yasser, the old town tailor, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Zayn replied politely. Although he was not so honourable in deed, his fine manners somewhat made up for it. “But my father has been dead for over two years now.”

The magician shook his head in sorrow, although he already knew of the man’s passing. “What misfortune has befallen you and your family! I am your father’s brother. I have been away travelling the world for several years, and am just now returning home, only to find out he is dead! Oh, what tragedy has transpired,” he cried. A few tears slipped down his cheeks, leaving a trail through the dust that had accumulated there. He fumbled with the drawstrings of the money pouch secured to the belt around his waist before fishing out two gold coins and handing them to Zayn. “For your mother,” he explained. “Tell her that I shall return tonight and will dine with you and your family.”

With the money in hand, Zayn ran home to his mother, Trisha. “Mother,” he said. “Do I have an uncle?” Trisha told him that he didn’t, so Zayn took out the two gold pieces and told her of the man claiming to be Yasser’s brother. When she learned he was to occupy a seat at their dinner table, she was puzzled, but headed to the market with the coins in hand anyway. The magician arrived while Trisha was still cooking dinner. He entered the humble Malik home followed by a servant, bringing along with him a multitude of colourful fruits and pastries for dessert, along with several bottles of expensive wine. 

The delicacies were given to Zayn, and then the magician greeted Trisha graciously. After all the appropriate introduction had been made, the man asked to be shown the place where Yasser had sat while he was still alive. When Trisha complied with his request, the magician knelt down before the large, dusty chair with tears in his eyes, and kissed the threadbare seat several times. “Oh such misery has come to me, my brother, for I wish my travels had been shorter so I could have given you one final embrace!”

When dinner was served and all the children herded up and sat around the table, the magician recounted the story of his travels for Trisha, telling her that he’d been away from his home in Bradford forty years, visiting the spectacular wonders the world had to offer. About halfway through the meal, the man turned to Zayn to converse with the boy. “So Zayn, a fine young fellow like you is surely a good, hard worker. You must follow in your father’s business enterprises, do you not?”

Zayn was embarrassed by the question and hung his head in shame.

“Zayn is a lazy boy; his father tried and tried to teach his only son the trick of his trade, but to no avail. His idle fingers botched every thread pattern and managed only to get splotches of blood upon the customers’ garments. Since his untimely death, Zayn has done nothing to claim his rightful position as the man of this household. Instead, he occupies his time playing the part of a street-rat with those filthy friends of his. I despair that he will never bring any good to this household,” she admitted. With that, Trisha burst into tears, sobbing freely into her hands while Zayn looked on, more than a little ashamed.

The magician turned to Zayn and scolded, “This doesn’t bode well for your family’s future, my nephew. You must think of what will happen when you no longer have a mother to support you. If you keep on like this, no lady shall dare accept your hand in marriage for fear of going hungry at your idle hands.” Zayn wrinkled his nose slightly at the mention of a future wife, for growing up with a strong feminine influence, he had realized early on his immense distaste for all things girlish and orderly. Perhaps that was why he’d never taken to his father’s business; to him, needlework and patching seemed far too delicate for his rough, dust-calloused hands. He wanted to prove his masculinity, and playing footie with his friends in the dust made him feel more powerful. 

“For your mother’s benefit I shall help you, Zayn. Should I buy a stall at the market in which you could set up your own shop?” he asked. Zayn grinned a Cheshire-cat smile because surely being a shop-keeper required very little labour on his part. 

“Why thank, you Uncle,” Zayn replied with exaggerated humility. “I think the part will suit me well.”

“We’ll go seek out our options tomorrow; be sure to dress in your finest attire.”

With that, the magician left, Trisha thanking him profusely as he made his way out the door. She begged Zayn to do as his uncle wished so as not to mess up this opportunity for himself and the family. 



The next day, the magician reappeared at the Malik house as promised. He took Zayn to try on shirts and pants of the richest fibres and builds, letting the dark-haired boy pick an outfit that suited his fancy. The man paid the merchant the handsome sum without so much as batting an eye. With his new, polished look, Zayn took off at his uncle’s side and the pair went into the centre of town to the bazaar, where all the best carts and stalls sold goods. The two spent the day traipsing through the colourful fabrics that lined the streets and touring exquisitely decorated mosques. In the evening, Zayn and the magician ate a feast better than Zayn’s could’ve ever dreamed.

That night when Zayn returned home, still dressed in his finery, his mother was filled with joy, “Generous brother,” she exclaimed, “I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for my son; may you live many years to come so you may see the benefits of your kindness!”

“Zayn is a good lad,” the magician replied. “He listens to my counsel, and I believe we will make a tradesman of him yet. I regret to inform you, however, that I will not be able to help Zayn set up shop tomorrow, as merchants don’t sell on Fridays. On Saturday, though, we will acquire a stall for the boy to begin his business. I will come by and collect the boy tomorrow morning to show him the gardens outside the city square.”

Just as the sun began to rise the next morning, Zayn sprung out of bed and dressed his finest, anxious to see his uncle once more. When he saw him coming, he rushed out of the small house to greet him. The magician met him kindly. “Come, Zayn,” he said with a smile. “Today I’m going to show you some very fine things.”

The magician led Zayn through some beautiful gardens with houses scattered far and wide amongst the flowers and shrubbery. Zayn, having never seen anything so magnificent, couldn’t help but to exclaim how gorgeous the peonies and roses looked, or how succulent and tasty the fruits tasted against his sun-chapped lips. The magician led the boy further and further into the country until he noticed Zayn’s fatigue. He invited his nephew to sit in one of the never-ending gardens, right beside a large fountain of pure, sparkling water. The man produced from a satchel tied to his belt some cake and fruit, handing them to Zayn and imploring him to eat while he gave the boy advice.

When the boy felt rested and refreshed, the magician led him much further, until the pair came upon a narrow valley surrounded on all sides by mountains reaching into the wispy clouds.

This was the place the magician had wanted to reach all along. He had brought Zayn here for his own selfish purposes. 

“This is where we shall stop our travels,” he told Zayn. “I wish to show you some extraordinary things, feats which no one but you shall have the great pleasure of witnessing. I’m going to start a fire, if you could gather dry sticks and tinder.”

The sandy soil was littered with sticks, and Zayn had an armful collected in no time. He arranged the branches in a pile and the magician lit fire to it. When the golden flames licked high enough into the sky, the magician threw a perfume on the flames, causing dense plumes of smoke to billow up. The man began uttering strange words, which Zayn soon figured to be in some foreign tongue. When the last word left his uncle’s lips, the ground began to shake violently, opening a small hole in the ground only metres from where the two stood. A stone with a brass ring affixed to the centre seemed to float in the middle of the gaping hole that appeared—from where Zayn stood—to have no bottom.

Zayn was extremely scared and was about to run away, when the magician punched him square in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground in clear pain. The boy, with tears now streaming down his cheeks and blood pooling in his mouth, collected himself and stood to face the magician. “My dear uncle,” he cried, “what fault have I committed against you that I deserve such severe punishment?”

“I have my reasons,” his uncle assured him. “Obey me without question and you will not have to worry about such consequences again. Underneath the stone in the middle of the cavern is hidden a great treasure so valuable that it shall make you richer than even the greatest king of the land. All you have to do is obey my commands.”

Zayn had recovered from his earlier fright. “What do I have to do? Tell me, for I am ready to obey!”

“Very well,” said the magician approvingly. “Come over here and take hold of the ring.” When Zayn obeyed, the magician continued, “Now life up the stone.”

Much to Zayn’s surprise, the stone was not heavy and lifted from the ground with no resistance. When it was tossed to the side, he spied a small opening where the rock once was nestled. His eyes travelled along the small path past the opening, and found that it ended at a door. 

“Go into the cavern,” the magician instructed, “and when you reach the door, you will see a great open space that forks in three different directions. In the coves at the end of these three corridors, you will find four bronze vases nearly as tall as yourself. They are filled to the brim with gold and silver, but you mustn’t touch any of it. Once you get to the first corridor, wrap your robe securely around your body, making sure to tie it tightly. Then move on to the second corridor without stopping. Then go on to the third in the same manner. Now listen carefully, for this is the most crucial part: be extremely mindful that neither you nor your robe touches the walls or any other furnishings. If anything should come in contact with them, your death is imminent. At the very end of the third corridor is a door that leads to a beautiful garden planted with rows of luscious green trees, filled with fruit. Go straight forward and follow the path you find. It will bring you to the bottom of a flight of fifty stairs. At the top there is a terrace. In the terrace is a niche, which holds a lighted lamp. You must extinguish the flame. Expel the liquid and the wick from the lamp and wrap it securely in linen. Then bring it to me. Don’t worry about staining your new attire with the liquid from within the lamp, for it is not oil; it will dry immediately after your have rid the inside of the liquid. If any of the fruit of the garden suits your desires, you may pick of the trees. Take as much as your arms can carry, but be sure you do not lose the lamp.”

When the magician was done giving Zayn these instructions, he took a gold ring from his finger and put it on his fake nephew, claiming that it would protect him from any evil spirits that may wish to devour the innocent boy. With one last reminder to be careful and follow every instruction perfectly, the magician bade Zayn go, promising they would both return home with riches beyond their wildest dreams.

Zayn made his way down the steep decline and into the cavern behind the door he’d spied from above. He found the three corridors just as his uncle had described and walked through them, being mindful not to touch anything, just as the magician had warned. After passing through all three corridors without incident, Zayn continued on to the terrace. He took the lit lamp and blew out the flame before dumping the contents over the terrace, watching the clearish-yellow liquid spiral down and onto a small bed of crimson honeysuckles below. As the magician had instructed, he swaddled the lamp in linen and tucked it inside his robes, taking special care to secure it. Zayn then left the terrace and wandered among the various fruit trees and found the assortment to be some of the most enticing fruit he’d laid eyes on. Each tree bore large, colourful fruits on its branches. He recognized apples and pears, tangerines and plums. But there were also fruits he’d never encountered before, their skins transparent with a brilliant teal blue undercurrent swarming around inside like a Christmas bauble, and yet others a brilliant rainbow of crystals dancing this way and that in the sunlight. The longer Zayn stared, the sooner he realized that these unfamiliar fruits were not simply random colours. No, each of these trees bore fruits resembling the richest of precious stones and diamonds. Looking around, he spotted a tree that seemed to be dripping with emeralds, another with rubies, and yet a different tree with topaz. Being not much older than a child, Zayn was naïve and thought the brilliantly couloured fruits were little more than painted glass. Although he knew not of their extraordinary worth, Zayn was attracted to the beautiful hues and began gathering some of each. He filled his pockets and boots, even stuffing his bags full of the “glass” until he was as loaded down as a lowly pack mule. 

Laden so heavily with the goods he’d collected, Zayn hastened through the corridors once more at a quick pace, not wanting to keep his uncle waiting too long. Zayn remembered the magician’s words from earlier and passed through the corridors with caution. When he reached the entrance to the cave, he saw his uncle waiting for him at the top patiently. “Give me your hand to hoist me up,” Zayn besought the man.

“Yes, my boy, but first hand me the lamp, that it may not hinder you.”

“Oh, but Uncle, it’s not in my way. I’ll give it to you when I am out of this place.”

The magician was obstinate in his desire to hold the lamp before helping his nephew free, but the fruit of the trees covered the lamp, and Zayn refused to uncover it until his feet were once more above ground. The boy’s denial greatly angered the magician, and he flew into a fit of rage. He once more produced a vial of perfume and threw a handful onto the fire, uttering magical words once more. When his mouth shut and silence overtook once more, the stone that had covered the cavern before once more slid into place over the exit, shutting Zayn in. 

Zayn was astonished that his uncle would do such a thing after all the kindness the man had shown him. Thinking himself buried alive, he called out to the magician, promising to give him the lamp if he’d just let the boy free. His pleading was useless, however, and Zayn remained suffocated by utter darkness. Once the tears stopped falling, Zayn stood and attempted to make his way to the light of the garden, only to find that the walls that were once open into the three corridors were now closed by his treacherous uncle’s magic. Even feeling around him, the boy’s fingers found no give or purchase in the rocky walls. He was trapped. Tears began to flow from his eyes once more and he crumpled to the cavern floor, positive that he’d never again see the light of day. He was certain that this was to be his everlasting sleeping ground. In this tomb, he’d lie forever. 

Zayn remained in much the same state for two days and two nights. He had no food or water and on the third day, feeling that his death was imminent, he lifted his hands and joined them as if in prayer, shouting, “In the hands of the almighty God rests all strength and power.” Without thinking, Zayn picked up the lamp that lay discarded and all but forgotten beside him, rubbing at it absentmindedly. Suddenly, the ground began to rumble ominously as it had when his uncle had uttered whatever magical words had revealed this place. A large, shimmering spectre appeared before the frightened boy, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a loud yawn. 

The figure looked to be barely older than Zayn himself, and seemed human, but surely it couldn’t be. Golden-brown hair was swept into a high quiff and piercing blue eyes bored into Zayn. “I am Louis, genie of the lamp. What is your wish, boy?” the genie spoke in a voice far less foreboding than Zayn had expected. It actually had more of a feminine, inviting edge to it that put the dark-haired boy a little more at ease.

Zayn wasn’t convinced of the power of this strange creature, however, and didn’t dare get his hopes up. “If you are able, get me out of this dreadful place!” he begged, and not a moment after the words had left his mouth, Zayn found himself once more above ground, right where his uncle had stood sneering down at him days earlier. Trembling with fear and a lack of nutrition, Zayn set off toward where he could just see the city on the horizon.



When he finally returned home hours later, panting excessively and nearly passing out from hunger and exhaustion, his mother was overjoyed to see him, for when he hadn’t returned home with his uncle, she had feared he had been kidnapped or killed by some gang of bandits. A small feast was prepared for the homecoming of the boy and once the food had been consumed and was digesting within the Malik family’s stomachs, Zayn took his mother aside and told her all that had happened since she had seen him leave with his uncle. He showed her the magic lamp and the colourful glass fruits of the trees and even the expensive-looking ring his uncle had given him to “keep him safe” that presently adorned his finger. Having been poor all her life, Trisha, like her son, didn’t see the true value of the jewels and diamonds Zayn had collected, so the boy merely stuffed them into one of the cushions of the couch. She was horrified to hear about the cruelty shown to her son by the malevolent magician, but she nonetheless thanked her lucky stars for her son’s fortunate escape. 

When Zayn awoke the next morning, his stomach felt as though it was writhing around within him and he went to the kitchen to fetch some breakfast. “I’m sorry, Zayn, but I have no bread to give you. Last night, you finished up every last morsel of food in this house. I have some cotton that I’ve spun and will go to market to sell. I shall be back before sundown with something with which to make our dinner.”

Zayn felt bad that he’d eaten their entire store of food, however, and wouldn’t hear of having his mother selling the cotton she must’ve worked very hard to spin. “Keep the cotton for a different time, mother, and give me the lamp that I showed you yesterday. I will sell that, and hopefully get enough money for it that I may fetch the materials for our breakfast and lunch, and maybe even dinner.”

Trisha fetched the lamp for her son and looked at it with slight distaste. “Here it is, but the outside is very dirty and tarnished, don’t you think so? Perhaps if I cleaned and polished it a little, you may get a little more money for it.” Zayn agreed and his mother returned with a clean cloth soaked slightly with a bit of clean water from the washbasin. She had barely begun to rub at the tarnished brass when the ground began to shake, causing the furniture to quiver as well. As when Zayn was trapped in the cavern, the genie rose from the lamp, emitting another loud yawn and swept a loose strand of hair back into his quiff, asking what wish he could grant now. Trisha, having never witnessed such an event, was too terrified to speak, but Zayn was unfased. He took the lamp from his mother’s trembling grasp and in a voice much more confident than he had used with the magical creature the first time, commanded: “I wish for something for my family and I to eat.”

The genie snapped his fingers and immediately, a silver basin filled with plates upon plates of the finest meats and fruits and bread appeared in his hands. Several bottles of wine of the purest distillery were nestled within the basin as well. When Louis saw that Zayn was satisfied, he vanished in a cloud of smoke back into the lamp.

When Trisha found that the genie, Louis, meant no harm, she and her children sat down to the wonderful meal he had bestowed upon them. The girls squealed in delight, for never before had they tasted meat so tender, nor wine so sweet and fragrant.

The food provided by the genie was so abundant that it lasted the family several days. The silver dishes the food had been served on, once sold, provided more than enough money to provide for the family’s day-to-day lives for many years to come. 



Having been sobered greatly by his adventure with his wicked uncle, Zayn saw to it that his idle days be put behind him. He no longer spent his time in the streets playing footie, but instead wandered through the market his uncle had brought him to all those years ago, speaking with various wise merchants and tradesmen. He grew to be a well-mannered and brilliant young man. 

One day, as Zayn was meandering through the streets like usual, he heard the fanfare of trumpets, indicating that the Sultan and his caravan were nearing. It was customary for the normal citizens to shut down their shops and close up their windows until the handsome Prince Niall had passed by on his way to the beautiful city springs where he bathed and had passed once again to get back to the palace.

Getting lost in the haste of the merchants around him, Zayn found himself standing below one of the stony archways facing the bubbling springs where the royal family bathed. Upon seeing the characteristic maroon and gold flags of the majesty hoisted high above servants mounted on pure white stallion backs, Zayn hid behind an arch, grateful that he was at least on the opposite side that the royal Horan family were entering. He hoped he might even be so lucky as to catch a glimpse of the handsome prince as he passed by. When the midnight black stallion bearing the prince came into view, Zayn stared as the prince’s well-muscled body met his eyes. He was surrounded by attendants and his face was covered with a gauzy white veil, but Zayn still knew he was beautiful. Once he dismounted his steed and stood beside the clear pool, Prince Niall threw aside his veil, revealing his angelic face, nearly causing Zayn to gasp aloud at his beauty. Zayn fell in love at one. 

After several days of daydreaming about the handsome prince, Zayn finally made up his mind to tell his mother about his love for the boy. She looked at him as if to judge whether or not he was kidding before bursting into side-splitting laughter.

“My dear Zayn, what has gotten into you? You’ve surely lost your mind, talking such folly.”

Zayn, slightly offended, replied, “Mother, I was being completely serious. I knew if I told you, you’d think me mad, but nothing you can say will stop me from asking the Sultan for his hand in marriage.”

“Son, you seem to have forgotten that your father was naught but a poor tailor. And even if he had held a better position, who would you propose ask the Sultan such a thing?”

Zayn thought for a moment. “You must be the one to do it,” he decided.

His mother blanched in surprise. “Me! You want me to go to the Sultan? I will not associate myself with such foolishness. You should know that no one may address the Sultan about any matter without bringing a grand present. We have no money to afford such a token.”

Zayn then told his mother some knowledge he had gained talking to the wise merchants of the market. He told her that the “coloured glass” he’d brought home years earlier was indeed not worthless decoration, but expensive jewels. Trisha took them from the drawer in which they had lain, all but forgotten for years, and helped her son arrange them on a dish of fine porcelain. Zayn and Trisha admired the beautiful arrangement of gemstones, and Trisha was now sure that her son’s present would please the Sultan greatly. With this new development in the plan, she agreed to her son’s request to address the Sultan. She wrapped the dish in fine linen so as not to lose or get dust on any of the precious stones and took off for the palace at once. When she arrived, there was a great crowd of people waiting in the spacious entrance of the gorgeous palace, waiting to be seen. She joined the line and waited until the rest of the citizens had been heard. 

Trisha waited and waited; she was the last person in the great winding line. When it was finally her turn to be seen by the Sultan and his advisors, the man retired, not taking any notice of Zayn’s mother, who was clearly a member of the plebian sector of the city. 

Only slightly disheartened, Trisha returned day after day until the Sultan took pity on the poor woman and agreed to hear her case. 

Trembling under the powerful eye of the Sultan, Trisha told the Sultan the story of her son’s bold wishes, begging him to consider her plea. The Sultan listened politely, and asked her what she had brought before giving her an answer. She carefully unwrapped the fine linen from around the porcelain dish and gently laid the dazzling gems before him with a slight curtsy. The Sultan was shocked by the exquisite sight laid before him, for he had never seen such bright and brilliant jewels of that size before. He gazed at them speechless for several moments. When he finally collected his wits, he took up the jewels and exclaimed, “How beautiful!”

Turning to his advisor, he showed the man the gems and whispered to him quietly for several minutes. Finally, he turned back to Trisha and said, “My kind lady, I will accept your son’s request for my son’s hand in marriage. But first, he must send me forty large urns filled with gold. Each urn must be carried by a strong slave, who shall in turn be escorted by a well-bred and handsome slave for my house. These are the conditions for which I will allow my son to be released to yours in marriage. Go, now and tell your son my circumstances. I will await his answer.”

Disappointed, Zayn’s mother made her way home, and told Zayn the Sultan’s demands. Zayn, remembering his magical lamp, only smiled and retrieved the shiny brass object. When his mother had gone out to the market to buy supplies for their dinner, the boy rubbed the lamp and out spiralled the genie Louis. 

“Ah, my good Zayn. What wish may I grant for you at present?” he wondered. Zayn told him of the Sultan’s request and Louis wasted no time in snapping his fingers and producing all that Zayn had wished for. 

Stood before Zayn were the forty slaves, each holding a large urn filled to the top with gold and jewels of all sorts. The handsomer slaves stood beside, and with all these new additions to the house, it was filled nearly to its breaking point. 

It was at that moment that Trisha came back and nearly fainted when she saw the great crowd and the urns filled with finery. Zayn requested that she lead the procession of slaves to the palace at once, hoping to further impress the Sultan with his prompt delivery of the dowry.

As Trisha passed by with the slaves, people peeked out windows and stopped to stare at the unusual sight before them. By the time the last slave stepped foot into street, the throng of people was so great that the slaves had to push their way through. 

When the first slaves arrived at the palace gates, the Sultan’s attendants scurried to open it, astonished by the great procession. 

When the Sultan was notified of the horde of slaves with their gifts, he gave orders to have them brought into the palace immediately. They entered the Sultan’s quarters one by one, forming a circle around the room. When everyone was assembled, the servants set the forty urns of gold and jewels on the beautifully stitched carpets for inspection. They then knelt low to the ground, submitting themselves before the great ruler. 

The Sultan was amazed at the sight before him. He gazed down at the shining splendor in front of him before turning to Zayn’s mother and crying, “Go, woman, and tell your son that I wait to embrace him with open arms!”

Zayn was delighted by this news and made haste to his bedroom, where he quickly took a bath and perfumed himself with the richest scent he could find. He clothed himself in his finest and then left to meet the Sultan.

The crowd the procession had created earlier had not yet dispersed. In fact, it had grown much greater. They all watched as Zayn passed in his finery, envious of the boy that had only moments ago been barely better than a common street rat. When he arrived at the palace, the Sultan greeted him joyfully and a great feast was had. When the meal was over, the palace judge was ordered to draw up a contract of marriage between Zayn and Prince Niall. When it was done, the Sultan graciously extended an invite to the boy, asking if he would like to spend the night and properly celebrate his betrothal.

“Your majesty,” he replied, “as much as I’d like to accept your kind invitation, I ask that you wait to bestow such kindness upon me until I have built a palace in which to receive the handsome Prince. For this purpose, I request that you will be gracious enough to show me a plot of land near your own, where I and my Prince shall reside. I will see to it that construction begins immediately, so as not to make you or Prince Niall wait any longer than necessary. 

“My son, take whatever plot you deem fit. There is a large open space just to the west of the palace that I have thought long about filling. Make haste, for nothing shall make me happier than to see you united with my son.” The Sultan embraced Zayn, who then left, bidding the Sultan farewell for now. 

As soon as he returned to his mother’s home, Zayn rubbed his magic lamp and summoned the genie, asking him to build a spectacular palace on the ground the Sultan had been so kind as to provide the boy.

Louis agreed to the boy’s request, but suggested that the deed be done early the next morning, so suspicions would not be raised. Zayn approved the genie’s suggestion, and just before sunrise the next day, was awakened by the blue-eyed spectre, who told him that his palace had been completed. The genie used his magic to transport Zayn and himself to the great new palace, and when he laid eyes on the place, Zayn was very pleased. “Louis,” Zayn said, “there is one final thing that I wish, and that is for a carpet of the finest purple velvet. I wish for it to reach from the Sultan’s palace gate all the way to the door, in order for the beautiful Prince to tread upon.” 

Louis snapped his fingers, and it was done.

The Sultan was amazed at the great speed with which the palace had been built, and Prince Niall himself was overjoyed with his new home. The Sultan arranged for the marriage ceremony to be held later that very same day, and saw to it that Zayn had all the attendants he needed in order to make him look his finest for the ceremony.

When the time finally came for Zayn to be united with his handsome Prince, he could hardly contain his rapidly growing excitement. The attendants had done a wonderful job, making him look strikingly gorgeous. His dark hair that was usually lightened by dust and grime had been washed and was pulled away from his face into a tall, slick quiff. His face, too, had been scrubbed and his body perfumed. As customary for royal weddings, small jewels had been stuck in intricate patterns over all of Zayn’s skin. Winding patterns of gold henna accompanied the gems, marking him as now belonging to the royal family. Silk of the finest sort and purest white clothed him in typical wedding attire. The Sultan had even made sure to send a crown fitted with the loveliest rubies over to the chambers in which his future son was being prepared. 

Meanwhile in his own chambers, Prince Niall was receiving a similar treatment, not unlike what he was used to on a daily basis, however. His alabaster skin--which was coveted far and wide for its dainty beauty--was dusted with ground-up diamonds in order to make him glow. His white-blonde hair was gelled into its usual style and topped with a crown very similar to his future husband’s. Beautiful gold henna designs swirled out from under his silk clothing. All in all, he looked breathtaking.

When it was announced throughout the castle that both Zayn and the prince were ready to be wed and the tables had been prepared for the feast, the Sultan ordered the royal proclamation to be made throughout the city of Bradford. 

The attendants that had gotten Zayn ready led him down to the courtyard in front of the palace, which had been transformed beautifully into an outdoor wedding chapel. Hundreds upon hundreds of the Sultan’s charges had shown up for the royal wedding, with Trisha and Zayn’s sisters being sat in the very front row. An arch woven of delicate twigs stood above Zayn, and in it were tucked fragrant flowers of a multitude of colours. When he was in position, a white silk runner was rolled out down the aisle for the prince to tread upon. Soon, trumpet fanfare began, indicating that Prince Niall was about to enter. Everyone in attendance got to their feet respectfully. When Zayn caught the first glimpse of his beautiful Prince, his face nearly split from the force with which he grinned. Niall looked gorgeous as ever in his wedding finery, and Zayn couldn’t be happier to be marrying him.

When the imam had finished saying some words, he handed each young man an ornately carved golden goblet filled with wine the colour of blood. Zayn held his cup to Niall’s lips and tilted it slightly so he could drink. Niall did the same for his almost-husband, and with the imam’s request that the two seal their marriage with a kiss, the ceremony was complete. 

That night, there was a great feast, followed by music and much dancing under the moonlight. Zayn and Niall couldn’t be happier and spent all night in each other’s arms, swaying along to the music and stealing kisses. 

After all the guests eventually trickled home, Zayn and Niall retired to their own palace after bidding the Sultan and his wife a good night. 

Now, Niall, being of the highest royal lineage in the land, had been kept pure, and was yet unmarred by any man. As was customary in the culture, Zayn swept Niall off his feet and carried him bridal-style across the bedroom threshold and laid the fair boy gently atop the velvet duvet of the large bed. The prince gazed with sparkling crystal blue eyes up at his brand new husband, his mouth parted slightly, allowing tiny puffs of breath to infiltrate his lips. 

Zayn stepped forward so his hips were slotted between Niall’s legs and leaned down to press a soft kiss to the blonde boy’s lips. Ever the gentleman, Zayn asked, “May I claim you as mine?”

Niall nodded and pulled Zayn down once more by the back of his neck, possessing his lips in a heated kiss. That night, Zayn made love to the most beautiful boy in the land and the two became one. 



For many months, the couple lived in this state of marital bliss. Zayn proved to be well fit for the throne and showed kindness and compassion to all his subjects. But all good things must eventually come to an end. 

During the course of his time at the palace, Zayn had become quite fond of hunting. He often went out to the forest in search of his latest game, sometimes travelling rather extensive distances from his blonde love.

At this time, Zayn’s old enemy, his supposed uncle the magician, found out by means of magic, that the boy was now exceedingly rich and well-liked around the kingdom and had not perished in the enchanted cave as he’d thought. He was enraged by this new information and vowed to kill Zayn, immediately setting out for Bradford. When he arrived, he made small talk with some higher-class citizens of the city, inquiring about Zayn and his palace. Not knowing the evil they were conferring with, the townspeople accidentally let on that the Prince’s husband was away on a hunting trip, not to return for several days yet.

The magician counted his good fortune and bought a dozen shiny new lamps and placed them in a basket. He then began the trek to Zayn’s palace. Once outside the gates, he cried before the crowd there, “Who here is willing to exchange old lamps for these new ones I have?” The crowd simply laughed at the magician, thinking him mad. 

The man continued his inquiry, eventually making his way below the fair Prince’s window. When the servants attending to him heard the mad chatter, they ran to the glass to see the commotion. Upon hearing his foolish proposal, the slaves said amongst themselves, “Let’s see if the old man really means what he says. There’s a tarnished old lamp in the sitting window; let’s replace it with a new one.” Niall, having been attended to thoroughly, sent the slaves away. They went to the magician and traded the dusty brass lamp for a shiny new one made of gold. That night, the magician went home triumphant and plotted his revenge.

After he had washed himself, the magician summoned the genie in the old lamp he’d traded for and commanded him to transport him, Zayn’s palace, and the beautiful Prince Niall to the most remote corner of England. Immediately, it was done.

The next morning, when the Sultan found his daughter and her palace to be missing, he was stricken with great grief. The townspeople ran amok in the streets and soldiers were fetched to bring Zayn back from his hunt.

When the soldiers found him, they dragged Zayn back before the Sultan as a criminal. Had he not been a great friend of the people, Zayn would have been beheaded immediately. “Go, boy!” cried the Sultan, “I’ll spare your life, but be warned that if you ever set foot before me again, your blood will flow freely in the streets for the flee-bitten scoundrels to lap up. This shall be your fate, unless you bring me my son within the span of forty days.”

Zayn was horrified by the news of his lost Prince, and left the palace quickly, terrified by the Sultan’s threat. He immediately took off in search of Niall. After he’d trekked some distance, he stopped by a small stream to wash his eyes that stung with tears. As he bent, his foot slipped in the muck and he quickly grasped a nearby rock to keep himself from falling in. From the folds of his travel-worn robes, he pulled his old lamp, from which he hoped to be able to drink. He rubbed the brass with sand and mud, attempting to sterilize and remove any wax from it, and out burst the Genie, Louis. “What do you wish, Master?” Louis asked.

“Oh, Louis!” Zayn cried in shock and relief. “Bring back my lovely Prince and put my palace back where it stood only yesterday!”

“What you wish I cannot grant you. You must consult the genie of the lamp from which the wish to send them away was made.”

“In that case, I wish to be transported to where my palace and Prince now lie.” In the blink of an eye, Zayn found himself standing within the great hall of his own palace. The windows showed a scene from an unfamiliar city, and as Zayn peered out, he caught sight of his beautiful Prince, weeping at the loss of all he had ever known. As he passed by the window, Niall glimpsed his husband and motioned for him to keep quiet. Soon, a servant came to Zayn and escorted him to the couple’s private bedchambers. Niall ran to his husband with great joy and flung himself in his arms, kissing him deeply. Tears ran down each man’s face, for he thought he had permanently lost the other. After a long embrace, Zayn questioned, “Tell me, my Prince, where is the old lamp that used to rest in the sitting window?”

Niall explained how the slaves had exchanged it for a brand new one, made of the finest gold. The evil man who had ruined his happiness was now in constant possession of the lamp, he claimed. Zayn knew immediately that the man had to be none other than his “uncle,” the old magician who had nearly killed him and now sought to seduce the enchanting flaxen-haired Prince into becoming his own.

After much deliberation, the couple came up with a plan to get back the old lamp. Zayn went to the unfamiliar city square in the tatters of a slave and bought a potion of the vilest sort. When ingested, it was sure to cause near-instant death. Prince Niall then invited the magician to dine with him that night, to which the man agreed heartily. Before he arrived, Niall took the small flask of violet-coloured solution and added a few drops to a goblet of wine, which he then placed before the magician’s place at the table. Upon the man’s arrival, Niall proposed a toast, to which the magician drank readily. Seconds later, the veins in his neck tensed and turned a sickly dark bluish- black and he fell in a heap to the floor, dead. 

Zayn rushed from where he was stationed in the next room and snatched the lamp from where the magician had stowed it within his robes. He rubbed it and out of the wispy smoke rose a Genie, this one of a much more masculine form than Zayn’s genie, Louis. 

“I am Liam, genie of this lamp,” he bellowed, his voice echoing around the dining hall. “What do you wish?”

Zayn requested that his palace be returned to its original position, and immediately, all was right again.

As he was having his evening stroll around the palace grounds, the Sultan was struck with joy upon seeing his son’s palace right where it had been constructed. He and his guards made haste to the dazzling palace where he embraced his son and welcomed Zayn back with open arms. That week, there was a great festival in all of Bradford to celebrate the Prince’s safe return home. Music filled the streets and people danced in large throngs. A feast was prepared, and extra food was handed out to even the poorest citizens of the town. 

Many years later, the great Sultan died, and Zayn and his Prince ascended to the throne. Their reign lasted many years and they remained well-liked by all of the subjects of Bradford. A handsome dark son and a beautiful little blonde daughter were left when the couple died many, many years later. Bradford had never seen better years.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you think :) Check out my Wattpad account (@heyhazza) for more of my work


End file.
